


go tonight, mad one

by t0mmysliver



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (kinda? it's mostly bittersweet ending but it's sorta happy ig?), (mentioned) - Freeform, Angry TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort/Angst, Dead TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Depressed TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Ghost TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Ghost Wilbur Soot, Ghostbur, Heavy Angst, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Insane Wilbur Soot, Lonely TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Not Canon Compliant, President Toby Smith | Tubbo, Protective Wilbur Soot, Sleepy Bois Inc Angst, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Suicide Attempt, TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot-centric, ghostinnit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:29:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28705206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0mmysliver/pseuds/t0mmysliver
Summary: the sand crunching beneath his feet, the sun rippling across his eyes, the wind drying his tearstained face, they forced him to feel alive again. he was supposed to believe he had died, but the world was still the same.he was gone, and the sun still dared to rise.ORtommyinnit has died. tubbo waits for his ghost to return. ghostbur finds him. he’s not ready yet
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 31
Kudos: 378
Collections: Found family to make me feel something, MCYT Fic Rec





	go tonight, mad one

**Author's Note:**

> THIS TOOK TOO LONG! AAAAAA i didnt let myself write anything else cause i knew i'd end up abandoning it bc that's how bad my attention span is and i'd feel bad for never finishing it but! here it is! WHOO
> 
> you're probably here from twt or discord, i've def been spamming links to it every chance i got. it's ok, hype me up
> 
> uhhhhh tw for schlatt mention, injury/death description (sorta graphic but it's not like bloody), manipulative wilbur (it comes thru ghostbur as he remembers more stuff abt alivebur), uhhh tell me if i need to tag more!

Ghostbur couldn't remember the reason why Tommy wasn't here yet, but he knew there was one. That didn't satisfy Tubbo, though, who paced within his house, looking out windows for any sign of his best friend. 

All he saw was his gravestone, barely within l'Manberg's walls, that would have been further away if Dream got his way. Covered in flowers, all laid by Tubbo, because Techno and Philza hadn't been able to see it yet, and blue dye, there was no ghost yet sitting there. 

Not like how they found Ghostbur, with his fingers trailing each letter, a smile on his greyed face and joy in those blank white eyes. But that'd been days after the explosion, days after the Wither, like he'd settled in his grave waiting for everything to be calm. 

"Maybe Tommy's doing the same," the ghost tried to assure the President. It'd only been maybe a day, far less than it'd been for him. He doesn't even remember those days of lying in wait, if he was waiting, and maybe Tommy wouldn't remember them either. 

"You don't think he's like-" Schlatt's name doesn't get to drop off his tongue, Ghostbur quickly shaking his head and Tubbo pausing himself. "No, he wouldn't. He'd want to come back."

"It's all he wanted," Ghostbur mused. 

"Maybe he's still there. Maybe he's lost."

"Maybe."

Tubbo looked over at the ghost, scanning him up and down. "Do you think you should go find him?" 

"Me? I'm not very good at finding things, I just get lost. Tommy doesn't like getting lost."

"I can't really leave here, he might not want to see me anyway.. and-and I don't trust anyone else to bring him back saf- bring him back."

Ghostbur didn't notice the correction, just nodding. "I think he'd want to see you. I'll go. Yeah, mm hm, I'll go! Go find him.."

Tommy was here, on the server. He’s seen him, ‘talking’ to Schlatt, but the green ring only illuminated Schlatt, Tommy remaining silent. As Ghostbur floated along the ocean alone, pulling a boat along the blue and considering the fates that could have befallen his brother, his worries grew; his chest tightened, his red fingers picking at the tear in his sweater, he tugged down his beanie over his hair.

Then he saw it, Tommy’s home, familiar on the horizon, and his worries dissipated into a large grin. All that mattered was that, with any hope, he’d see his brother again and maybe even be able to guide him home!

Laying on the coast by the sea was a figure, feet half submerged in the white tides. As he drew closer, more became clear - their flat hand’s fingers burrowing into the ground, the sand sticking to their face, their soaked clothes and dripping hair. Their grey skin, tinted blue at the lips. His grey skin. His, Tommy’s. His brother.

Good thing Tubbo wasn’t here to cry or panic. Ghostbur did neither, staring before mustering a smile and shaking the younger boy. “Tommy,” he whispered, then added a slight song to his voice. “Tommyyy~ it’s me! Wilbur- Ghostbur!”

Tommy’s eyes opened slowly; they were like glass, or ice, his baby blue eyes trapped behind the glaze layer, his irises flickering around slowly, his hands moving sluggishly as they tried to escape the sand burial. He sat up, taking a minute to look Ghostbur in the eyes. Sand still covered his half of his face, from his matted hair to his blue lips, even when he tried to wipe it away with his hand. 

“How are you feel-”

“It didn’t work, did it?” 

Ghostbur took pause, looking Tommy up and down. Greyed skin, white layer over the eyes (at least he still had his irises - Ghostbur misses his own eye colour), soaked red and white shirt. He knew what Tommy had done, and he knew that it had worked. 

“No- no, no, it worked. But you’re-”

Tommy’s face fell. He took a breath he no longer needed, shaking his head and looking away. “No, it didn’t- I’m still here, Wilbur, I wouldn’t.. I wouldn’t  _ be _ here if it worked.”

“You’re like me! Ghostbur!”

“...that’s not fair.”

Ghostbur stayed quiet, head cocked as Tommy rambled incessantly, his shaking more feverish as he declared that it  _ hadn’t worked _ \- it had, Ghostbur could see right in front of him, he’d done it, but Tommy refused to believe it, like his life, really his afterlife now, depended on it. 

“If- if it worked, Ghostbur, I wouldn’t still be here! I just- I just respawned, yeah. On. On the beach.”

“Well, I died, didn’t I, and I’m still here. And Schlatt used to not be, but he’s here, isn’t he, he is, yeah! Yeah-”

“I died to get out of here, I did that, to get out of here, and-and I’m still here. I don’t- I’m not supposed to be here, not anymore.” It was Tommy’s turn to go quiet, intertwining his fingers between each other. “Dream’s- Dream’s gonna be so mad.”

“Why? He’s not been mad at me ‘fore! I think he’ll understand.”

“No, no I wasn’t supposed to- not supposed to even  _ try _ , he said I couldn’t, and I tried, and I failed, I’m still here, I didn’t- he’s gonna-” Ghostbur watched, uncertain on how to help, as Tommy’s words were slowly replaced with heavy gasps, his legs buckling beneath him as he trembled; and all Ghostbur could do was watch. He sat by his brother, rubbing his back. Tommy was a ghost, yes; he always had trouble touching and holding the living, but his hands found Tommy quite easily. Tommy seemed to realise as well. 

“Well, even if Dream would be mad, there’s not much he can do-”

“I can’t be. No. No, no, I can’t be-”

“It’s okay - it’s fun being a ghost! We should get you a new name, like mine, or Glat-”

“No, I can’t be here. I can’t be  _ here _ , if it worked, I should be… I should be somewhere else.”

“Where else is there to b-”

“HOME!” Tommy snapped, forcing himself to his feet, stumbling around the coastline, eyes drawn to the sea. 

“What do you mean, Toms? Logsted, that’s home n-”

“No. No, no it’s not. I don’t- Wilbur, please, why don’t you get it? I want to go home, to l’Manberg-”

“Oh! Tubbo’s waiting for you!”

Tommy froze again, slowly wrapping his arms around himself. “...Tubbo’s… Tubbo’s waiting for me?”

“Mm hm! Ever since he heard the news! That you- you yknow!”

“..it couldn’t have worked. It.. it couldn’t..” He trailed off as he slowly began to disagree with his words, his own words, his lips quivering as he stared down at his hands. Sandy fingers, sandy face, grey skin; so cold, so blue, shaking. “...it couldn’t.”

“Well, Tubbo’s waiting for you to go, to his home! You won’t need the compass anymore-” Ghostbur doesn’t see him wince and clasp his fingers around each other. “-and you can see all our friends again! It’s gonna be so much fun, Tommy. He sent me to fetch you, he’s so excited to see you!”

Tommy watched the ocean lap up on the beach as Ghostbur continued to ramble, then approached the waves. They climbed to meet him, but-but he was  _ floating _ , they couldn’t reach him anymore, he was floating. 

He couldn’t deny it any longer. But he wasn’t ready for it. 

“I-I don’t want to go just yet, Wilbur. Can you stay here, with me? For a few days.”

Brought out of his thoughts halfway through rambling about Friend and how Tommy can have his own Friend, Ghostbur beamed at his brother. “Of course! Lads on tour again!”

“...yeah. Sure.”

* * *

Dawn broke over the greenland, but only Tommy was awake to see it. Not alive this time. It’d settled in his gut like nausea, his fingers wobbling as he sat on the bed. Ghostbur was slumped against a wall, sitting up but completely asleep, and Tommy paid him no mind. He was easy to ignore like this. 

The oceans weren’t roaring, but they still grumbled as they met the land. The world was red, the sky still half night and, despite the silence, there was no peace. It felt like there would never be peace again. 

Tommy stood, left the shelter and walked toward the waves for the second time that week. The sand crunching beneath his feet, the sun rippling across his eyes, the wind drying his tearstained face, they forced him to feel alive again. He was supposed to believe he had died, but the world was still the same. 

He was gone, and the sun still dared to rise. 

“Tommy?” A voice surprised him, and for a second he thought it was Tubbo. But of course it was Ghostbur. It always would be. “Do you like the ocean?”

There were too many words to explain how he felt about the ocean now, too many to even begin. So he didn’t start, simply answering, “I used to.”

“When I was Alivebur, I remember swimming, with-with you and Techno and Phil, when we were younger. You couldn’t swim, so Phil had you on his shoulders, but you-you tried to stand up, I think you were gonna dive, and you wobbled backwards into the sea. I don’t remember the inbetweens, but when you bobbed back up to the surface, you were laughing, laughing a lot, and then you complained about how bad the water tasted. And Alivebur laughed, he liked hearing you laugh, so he splashed you, I splashed you, and you shrieked and tried to hit the water back at me, but you were too little to make big splashes so you just got wetter. And then- and then, Techno, he splashed us both with water until Phil made us stop, but we were laughing, and he was laughing, and-” Ghostbur was laughing, beginning to talk about how he can still remember the taste of the splashes in his mouth. 

Tommy didn’t remember that day, as much as he wanted to. He still remembered Wilbur’s laughter, when he was alive, and how it was so much different to Ghostbur’s laugh. His stomach’s nausea spread to his chest, but he let Ghostbur talk. It’d be too quiet otherwise. 

“-of course, I can’t really touch water anymore, cause I’ll melt-”

Maybe melting would work. Tommy stepped closer to the waves; his feet sizzled as the waves met them and he grit his teeth. Ghostbur’s hand was on his arm, pulling him back. 

“Melting hurts,” Ghostbur warned, his voice serious and his fingers squeezing. “Why don’t we go explore? Or-or we can go to Tubbo today!”

“Maybe later,” Tommy mumbled, pulling his arm out of Ghostbur’s hand but not stepping back towards the water. Yet.

“Whatcha want to do n-”

“Melting, you said it hurts. But does it- does it… get rid of you?” He interrupted, turning to face Ghostbur. “Like, I know it, like, fucks with you if you get wet, but is… is melting like- is it permanent?” He hesitated. Was this the right way to say it? Should he say it? “Will it kill me, for the second time?”

Ghostbur paused, as if recounting memories he didn’t really remember, before he finally spoke his voice still serious but far softer, his fingers wrapping around each other. “I don’t… think so. No. No, I-I remember being melted, when I, when I was lost. And it hurt. It hurt worse than…” His hand floated to the tear in his sweater, his mouth half-open as if there were words just waiting to speak. “But I came back. And I felt, I felt  _ bad _ for a little while, but I’m still here and-and that’s all that matters!” And there was that Ghostbur smile, the grin that looked like Wilbur’s but just wasn’t. Tommy would do anything to see that smile again. But it was gone. And so was he. 

“Oh,” was all he could muster, before he looked back to the water again, but Ghostbur was already dragging him away, not to stop him but to go exploring, already talking about all the distant sheep and about his sheep Friend and about blue, but Tommy can’t get the ocean out of his head. Maybe that’s because his shirt’s wet, or because melting will take it away for a minute. 

“Maybe I should get Friend a girl sheep friend, or a boy sheep friend, just a sheep friend! I don’t think he minds much, but what if he likes his sheep friend more than me! I don’t think he would, you can have multiple friends, like I have you and Techno and Phil and-” Tommy had zoned out as he continued to list people; most of the mentioned made him wince. They’d hurt him, they’d hurt Wilbur too, but Ghostbur had no idea, or at least he didn’t seem to. His eyes met the sky again, a clear blue that didn’t quell the thoughts of the sea, as the clouds separated beneath the sun and the mountains reaching up to the darker ends of the sky. Clouds, bubbles. Mountains, coral. Height, depth. 

“-and Dream-” 

Chills ran down Tommy’s spine, and suddenly he was freezing, shaking, gasping, the cold stopping him in his tracks. Ghostbur didn’t seem to notice until Tommy had begun to walk back, not back towards their shelter, but toward the ocean - third time’s a charm - and he was too far to grab him this time. 

No hesitating this time, no gentle prods, he stormed straight into the water. It ran up his leg, shocking his body, and his head lurched up and he sobbed in agony, but kept striding through. Ghostbur almost ran into the sea himself, and was about to start floating to grab him, but then the rain began to pour down and Tommy laughed despite himself. Of course it’d rain now, of course it would. Ghostbur quickly rushed to the shelter, pleading with Tommy to come back in: “Your shirt’s already soaked through! It’s cold and this is warm! Don’t you want to come dye a sheep with me?”

But the water was up to his chest, he could feel his grey skin fizzing up at the surface, and the pain coursed through his neck into his skull, the rest of his body numb as it fizzled away into bubbles. He let himself sink, eyes closed, mouth barely ajar. Just like last time.

In those brief seconds, where he was too little to feel pain and too much to be gone again, Tommy felt peace. 

And then he woke on the beach again, half buried by the sand, the sky dimming down into a grey. The rain had passed, the clouds shifting towards the rest of the land, and he was left to breathe in grit and damp sand. Ghostbur floated over to him, smiling uneasily before helping him up, trying to brush the sand off his cheeks to no avail. 

“It hurts,” Tommy mumbled, hugging his chest and stomach. He felt heavy, his eyes sore and cold, his body jetlagged and sluggish, but he tried to follow Ghostbur back to the base. “I just wanted it to stop for a second. But it’s-it’s worse, it was- I had- it’s worse now.” He didn’t know what he was trying to say, let alone how to say it, a jumble of letters lodged in his throat. Sand seemed to cling to him, to his feet as they dragged through it, like it didn’t want to let him go; he considered that maybe the lump in his throat was sand.

When they were back inside, Ghostbur shutting the door and lighting the lanterns in a strange familiarity to the both of them, Tommy sat on the white bed that he’d always wished was red and watched the ghost - the other ghost, now - warm the house with torches. It didn’t help the chill in Tommy’s chest though. How long had that been there?

“...I’d do it all over again though,” he admitted, glancing away so he didn’t have to see Ghostbur’s judgement. “Because… because I felt… I felt peace, Wilbur. And-and it was for a second, but I know- I know I’m never gonna get peace-” His voice choked up, sand and the alphabet forcing him to gasp for air. “-because this world, this server, it-it hates me, it fucking hates me.”

He waited for Ghostbur’s silly charm, but the ghost was nothing but serious when he finally spoke: “I think sleep would do you good.”

“I don’t think sleep’ll do anything.”

His voice was firm. “Goodnight, Tommy.”

* * *

Something was boiling inside him when he awoke, and all he could do was stare up at the dim orange sky and wait for Ghostbur. The ocean didn’t call him anymore, he wished it did, nothing called him anymore. His chest was an empty hole, a cavity, a black hole, and at the same time, he was simmering, something inside him was cooking, growing to a boil. There was something to feel, but right now he couldn’t feel it. 

He’d feel it soon, he could guess that. 

Ghostbur returned, a tiny smile on his face, as if he was pretending yesterday didn’t happen but Tommy knew he remembered, and would remember for a long time, they both would. Maybe. “We’re set to go!” The other ghost announced, dragging a boat on a lead. 

“Are you sure we should go?”

“Mm hm! We’re gonna take a longer route, a scenic route, like you asked, a couple days, and-and it’ll be nice to get out of here! You’re no longer exiled, Tommy, cause-cause yknow!” 

“I know,” he sighed, standing and then looking at a chest. Usually he’d frisk through it, taking what he thought he’d need or want, but today he couldn’t bring himself to - there was no point in it anymore, was there? “...I’m ready to go.”

Ghostbur pulled the boat to the ocean, not even straining when Tommy clambered into it and clutched the sides like his life depended on it. Funny, that. Water rode up the sides, just too low to settle into the boat, close enough for Tommy to feel phantom fizzing, but if he closed his eyes, turned his head away and watched Ghostbur tug him along, he could pretend to not miss it. 

It wasn’t a quiet journey, but it was one-sided. Ghostbur rambled about how excited he was for everything and anything, from taking Tommy around l’Manberg to getting him his own ‘Friend’ sheep, and Tommy stayed quiet. He was sizzling, but without the water’s touch; his chest was warm, and the boiling was fervent, choking him, bile and bubbles filling his throat, his eyes stinging like nettles, his hands shaking. 

“And Tubbo, oh Tubbo! He sent me to get you, I can’t wait for you to be reunited! Do you have the compass still- no, no you’re not gonna need it anymore, are you? No! No, no, you won’t, because you’ll see him, you’ll see him everyday, and that means you don’t need a compass pointing to him!”

His body rioted at the sound of Tubbo, his ears red hot as the bubbles reached them, hot heavy tears pooling in his eyes, his fingers tightening into fists as he struggled to breathe. 

“You’re gonna have all your friends again, Toms, you’re not gonna be on your own-”

“Stop the boat,” he begged hoarsely. 

“Huh?”

“STOP THE FUCKING BOAT!” 

Ghostbur took that very literally, and the boat toppled onto land and sent Tommy skidding into the sand and dirt. He took shaky breaths before screaming and hitting the ground with fists, Ghostbur standing back, perplexed. “Tommy-”

“I DIED ALONE!” Tommy screamed, stammering over his words as the bile trapped in his throat came out as words. “I-I was alone, no one was there, only-only  _ Schlatt _ talked to me, he-he egged me on, and none of you stopped him! I DROWNED, I WAS- I was in the water alone- and-and- you were being happy and having fun and I was DYING! I was alone, you weren’t there, Phil wasn’t- Techno- Tubbo-” His voice cracked underneath the weight of the bile and fire. “-he certainly wasn’t- I didn’t even have Dream, I didn’t have him, he was- he went-” He screamed out again through sobbing, kneeling on the sand with his head on the dirt and his hands carding through his hair. “I breathe, I BREATHE, I can still feel the water in my lungs, I can still feel the water around me, I was awake for every second of it! You- you were insane, you chose to- I chose to but- but you knew, you’d gone, and and you begged for it, and you didn’t do it, Phil did it, I chose, I was tired- I had to do it myself! No one else would do it for me, I had to- I had to…” 

The sand crunched under Ghostbur’s feet, Tommy’s sobbing drowning it out, and he placed a hand on his brother’s back, closing his eyes as the boy drew a shuddery breath. 

“I was… I was so alone. And-and I wanted that to change, I needed it to change!” The boiling reached his face, bubbling in his mouth and nose and down his eyes as his brows furrowed again. “But it didn’t. No one- everyone knew, but none of them came for me. Not even you. You waited to be told to find me, and-and you DIDN’T EVEN CARE!”

“I care, I promise-”

“There-there you go, just speaking, you just speak and speak- all you do is talk! Wilbur, he-you, alive you, he just talked and lied and now all you do is talk and you NEVER LISTEN! I DIED, WILBUR, I DIED, I’M DEAD, I’m a- I’M A GHOST, fucking ghost… and-and you just- you just talk and, and I can’t, I can’t see him- he doesn’t want me, he’s- he’s better off.”

“Tommy, no-”

“NO, Wilbur, he doesn’t want me, he EXILED ME! HE’S THE CAUSE OF THIS, I DIED BECAUSE OF HIM- I died because of him, and-and you tell me, you tell me he misses me, that he’s waiting- it’s just all a big lie! I shouldn’t have left- Dream- Dream was right, I hate it, but he was right.”

Ghostbur opened his mouth. Then he closed it. Sitting next to Tommy, he kept his hand on his back, rubbing it in circles as Tommy trembled with swift, short breaths. 

“And- and I was tired, I was tired of this world, I’m so tired of it, sick of it, and… and I just… I hoped I’d finally be free of it.” His voice tensed again. “But I’m not. I-I’m not, and-and I won’t be, I can’t, man. I’m stuck here. I’m stuck here, forever, and now I’m dead and…” The boiling dissipated, and he was left with the gaping black hole in his chest again. He stared down at the ground, his tears drying on his reddened face that was now a dim orange, his breathing still laboured but now under his control. “I’m here. I’m just… here.”

Words wracked around Ghostbur’s brain, settling on his tongue like alphabet soup, but he swallowed them down and simply held his brother in his arms, crossing his legs and pulling Tommy into them. 

“Can I talk?”

Tommy just nodded between short gasps, staring forward, almost dazed and blank, seeing nothing. 

“I remember what happened in the inbetweens, now, when we were swimming and you fell into the water. Phil screamed, he was terrified for you, and Techno dove in, he couldn’t find you, neither could me or Phil, we thought- we were scared. And then-then you bobbed back up to the water, and Techno fished you up into his arms. You coughed out water, you cried and cried and cried, because the ocean was dark and you couldn’t breathe. But that doesn’t matter. Because-because five minutes later, when the water was out of your eyes and mouth and we’d dried you off, you were laughing, laughing so much, a lot- and then you were complaining about the taste of the water. What matters is that it was us. We were together and we had fun and you were… you were so innocent and kind.”

“Not anymore.”

“No. But you’re my Tommy, our Tommy. I have plenty memories of you, being Tommy. And-and even when you were in Logstedshire, you were... you were just like him. And you’re gonna be like that, when you feel better. I know- I think I know, because... because I think this happened to me, to me too, but I don’t remember it. Maybe you won’t remember it.”

“I don’t want this!” It wasn’t really a yell, too quiet, but the heat in Tommy’s mouth seemed to radiate in the hug as Ghostbur’s chest panged. “I don’t… I don’t want to be a ghost. I just wanted to get out. And-and I’m stuck here, I’m stuck here, a-alone, again, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“That’s not true. You’re not gonna be alone anymore, Tommy, and we’re gonna make sure of that. I promise. We promise.”

It was like the server spoke as one in Ghostbur, Tommy hearing voices that he hadn’t heard for a long time at the promise. The boiling had gone, but the water remained, and it filled the hole absorbing his lungs and heart, overflowing aplenty, and, even as he tried to control them with shaky breaths and hold Ghostbur’s sweater in a sweaty, hamfisted grip, it ran down his face in angry waterfalls, his breathing a hurricane, the almighty storm. 

But Ghostbur didn’t let go; in fact, he clutched him closer, “It’s okay,” he soothed, his voice calm and sweet and familiar, as if Wilbur was just down there  _ somewhere _ , trapped in a shell of grey skin and shrapnel scars, buried underneath the surface. Tommy should have felt angrier, but now he was simply simmering, the fire was too tired - he was too tired. “Let’s stay here tonight, hm?”

“No.” His own words surprised even him as he tightened his hold on the yellow sweater. “We should keep moving. I don’t… I don’t want- I don’t think we should stay here too long.” The anger was sticking to the sand, and the sand sticking to him, and he was far too tired for it. Standing up, Tommy began to brush the mud and dirt off his body - the sand still refused to come off, and he’d had too much water for the rest of his days. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s- let’s go.”

“It’ll be easier soon, I promise.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

“Never does.”

* * *

He wasn’t sure when it blended from the emptiness to this, but the hole felt heavy. His skin hissed from mild touches of the water, but he could barely move, barely feel the splashing of sea. Tommy was too heavy to breathe, and he didn’t even need to anymore. The weight of the world held him down to the boat, a magnet rested in his stomach, and the brick clung to his brain and tried to drag him down into the water again. 

Tommy said nothing, the words like water in the back of his throat; there, clear, lapping against the back of his mouth, but not moving onto his tongue, and as long as he laid down they’d never see the light of day, but he couldn’t sit up, so they were both trapped there, him and all the words he couldn’t say. So Ghostbur didn’t see his brother laying motionless, only shifting his feet, otherwise like a corpse. 

Maybe that’d be better, to be a corpse than a ghost. At least then he wouldn’t know he was a corpse. Maybe he’d have some peace that way, and he would never have to step foot in this world, the world that sent him away but refused to let him go, again, and he wouldn’t have to see every single face as a traitor, even Ghostbur, because no one came to see him out, and no one came to save him, and no one came to his home at all. And all he could trust was Dream, the man who did it all. 

Dream, the man behind many a mask. 

None of that mattered right now, though. Nothing did. Ghostbur not noticing his turmoil, that meant nothing, the sizzling of his grey flesh didn’t mean a thing, and the fact he was finally going home? That sparked nothing within the cavity of bricks and magnets stuck inside of him. Maybe he shouldn’t have cried so much yesterday, because then he would be able today. 

Foresight was never his thing anyway. 

Occasionally, just on the line between the sky and the boat edge, he could see distant coasts, maybe with villages dotted about them, some awkwardly stretching up onto mountains, specks of colour lining the land. But it wasn’t home, and it wasn’t important, so Tommy could hardly smile. 

His brain’s brick would bounce around his skull; at least the magnets stayed still, at least they were consistent, but the brick smacked into his thoughts and into his scalp and into his very being, banging around his head and leaving it a jumbled mess of pain, frustration, confusion, and soon there was barely any thought that wasn’t crushed or broken apart by the brick, all that really remained was a chaotic mass of white noise spinning in a black hole but never being pulled down, not properly. 

“We’re not too far. We’ll get there early tomorrow, probably. How are you feeling?” Ghostbur’s peppy tone had returned to his voice the previous day. They’d been in this boat so long, Ghostbur probably expected a complaint about a sore back. He was met with silence, long, heavy, drawn out, and only then did he turn back to see Tommy’s weighted body. “...Tommy?”

Tommy simply shut his eyes, perhaps trying to pretend he didn’t hear, his eyelids heavy anyway. The perfect words were lingering, right there in the back of his throat like bile, but his tongue was dry. So silent, he stayed, the hole in his chest spreading, like a mole hollowing out his body, for what? A home? To torment him? 

“Please? It’s gonna- it’s gonna be good. We’re gonna see all our friends again, and-and we can hang out all the time! It’ll be like the old days, and we’ll… we’ll be together again, Tommy. Isn’t that good? Aren’t you excited?”

If he breathed in deep enough, if he held the brick still long enough, Tommy could just about sit up. His head wanted to pull him down, the pulsing in his skull dragging him down, but in those moments, those brief moments of control, he could sit up. The words could flow onto his tongue. “I just… I don’t know anymore.” The perfect words had gone, hidden back into his stomach, whipped up in the hollowed out hole, fragmented by the brick slamming against his bone. “I’m tired, Wilby- Wilbur. I feel- I feel like I’m being weighted down, and-and I can’t, there’s nothing I can do. And-and I don’t even want to, because I’m tired, and my body is just an empty hole, and I just… I just… can’t feel.”

Looking up into Ghostbur’s eyes, Tommy could see recognition. Ghostbur  _ knew _ . It was stupid, but the weights on his shoulders lifted; he was heavy, but he could sit proper, he was glued down, but not forced onto his back. And Ghostbur saw, and he knew, and the small smile on his face promised freedom. “You’ll feel soon. Try sleep some more. Maybe you won’t wake up until tomorrow. You’ll feel better then.”

“Maybe I’ll feel worse.” The comfort of Ghostbur knowing slowly drifted away. He was so certain. How could he be so certain? “Maybe I won’t be able to sleep at all.”

“Well you’re tired, silly, and you can try. Cmon, no harm done trying, eh?”

Not wanting to lay down in case he couldn’t find his way back up, Tommy rested his head on the edge of the boat and settled down with his feet on the other side. Maybe he’d be able to move better then, he mused to himself as he shut his eyes and tried to drift off into a sleep. 

Sleep came. But not in the right way. 

In sleep came a cloth darkness, chained arms stuck ahead of him, something curved poking into his back until he stepped forward; his foot stubbed into a stair and the cloth - a bag? - was ripped off his face. The stage. The stage of the election, where presidents gave speeches, where-where- something struck his back, harsh and cutting in, from the corner of his eye he could see a cane held by a glove. Everyone he’d ever known were sitting in the seats facing the stage, staring forward as if they didn’t see the horror show next to them. In front of him, a black horse, all skin and bones, wore a lime bridle and pulled his chains forward; he walked with it. 

He was on the stage - he didn’t remember the stairs - and Wilbur and Schlatt, alive but stern-faced, stood by the edge of a pool of water that was settled in the stage itself (but he barely remembered what was supposed to be there), waiting. The chains were gone, the horse was gone; it was simply the three of them; the pair led him down a plank by the arms, and then they held him down in the water. He couldn’t scream, he couldn’t see, the water turned black for a moment, but then he’s out of the water, and Ghostbur and Glatt smiled at him, grey skinned and wearing sweaters - just like him. 

A white cloak, silk and smooth but with a sword-tear in its back, settled upon his shoulders, unknown hands tugging it on comfortably. He was holy. And then Dream walked up, cane in hand, mask upside down in a dotted frown, and held out a book. As Tommy took it, the bookmark stuck out into his hand, cutting into him. He stared down at it, watching the droplets of blood stain the acacia tree detailed on the bookmark. 

And then he looked up, to see a real acacia tree, a crow and a buzzard sat upon its branches, side by side. He didn’t hold a book anymore, but the upright mask Dream always wore - cold under his fingers. His cloak had gone too. Tubbo - behind him - began to speak, and before Tommy could find the words, the birds flew over them, the crow launching down and attacking Tubbo, a mass of black and red and eyes and talons before Tubbo dropped to the floor, a gory mess. Tommy’s feet moved before him, his hand reaching out for the crow’s neck. It found its target and threw the bird to the floor. He raised his arms and slammed the mask down onto it. Over and over again, the smile no longer showing through its shiny new coat. Blood soaked into the dirt, rain poured. It melted his skin, and Tubbo’s too, green and harsh. Tommy didn’t move. 

The community house. When did he come here? When did Tubbo get here? He must have been brought long ago; his body staring wide-eyed into nothing as it rotted into the carpet, decomposing in front of Tommy’s eyes. Something was lodged in his own throat, he coughed and hummed and gasped, but it was only when he knelt that it came out. Blood. He didn’t stop, he couldn’t, coughing and coughing until the puddle reached Tubbo’s bony fingers and met his gooey eyes. Tommy, he picked up his own fingers, dipped them in his coughs, wrote on the wall, a jumbled mess, unclear instructions. 

He stood, knees wet and buckling, and stumbled to the bathroom. Blood there too, on the walls, dripping down the shower, and the sink had no taps. Just a bracelet, the beads a compass that spun and spun. Some stopped to point to Tommy, but most spun and spun. Searching for home. He took the bracelet into his hand, perhaps admiring it, before holding it above his face and swallowing it. It stopped the coughing. Turning on his heel, a green and yellow Cheshire Cat grinned behind him before snaking onto his shoulders in the form of an asp, leaving the bathroom with him. Tubbo was gone, a body bag in his absence, and his neck screamed as the asp’s teeth plunged into his skin. As he yanked it off to throw it, it transformed into a vampire bat, it escaped, but he stared at the two bites on his neck. His fingers settled over the blood.

Logstedshire. His head was clearer, he looked around. It was accurate; it felt it, he could recognise it. Ghostbur sat across from him, clutching a lit candle in his grey skin. With a tiny smile, perhaps sinister, he huffed out the candle but then stood and held out a plant. Tommy took it; aloe vera. It soothed him before it was on his skin. Ghostbur was already walking outside, the candle vanished. As he ran after his brother, the white cloak billowed in the window, its tear wide open through the breeze. He blinked, and the two were covered in coloured powder, Ghostbur a mismatch but Tommy a stark blue. The white cloaked stayed unstained, and the pair ran further, faster, through the glass and up mountains. Brought to a cliff edge, Ghostbur fell, and so did Tommy, but in a blink they were running across land again, clean of paint. They passed ash trees and were soon joined in the journey by crows, black bats, white blacks, buzzards, albatrosses, but all Tommy could focus on was running with Ghostbur. 

They stopped, once. A river separated them from the forest, and Ghostbur bound onto each stone with ease and kept running. The animals followed, but Tommy hesitated. He looked up, then down, up at the white and yellow sky, down into the murky blues and greens of the rushing water. The land stretched out, the stepping stones smaller, Ghostbur almost out of reach. He was running towards a figure who reached out toward Tommy. And Tommy leapt, missing the stones, landing onto the grassbed and continuing to run, the yellow and white sky engulfing him. The animals were gone, he hardly noticed, catching up with Ghostbur. Figures ran alongside him, he spun and held his arms in the air. Laughter echoed, but it was with him, it was his as well. He was white and yellow, after a lifetime of blue and red. He was ahead of everyone, Ghostbur trailing behind him. 

The grass was gone. The sky was a gradient of yellow, reaching toward the white snow. And in the middle of the winter, stood Tubbo. He beamed at the sight of Tommy, but didn’t move forward, clutching a cornflower in his hands. Tommy stepped forward, stubbed his toe into a brick buried in the ground. He picked it up, threw it against the ground - it cracked in half upon impact, it let him through. Tommy looked up at Tubbo, copying his beam too. He held up a bracelet of compasses. They all pointed forward. Toward home. Tommy felt white. Tubbo was glowing, and he let go of the cornflower with one hand to reach out to him. 

Tommy ran into his arms. 

He left everything behind. The world was grey. 

* * *

Ghostbur tugged the boat along the ocean; the coastline that’d lead to home, the home he knew Tommy was probably dreaming about right now. If he really stared long enough, he’d see flashes of Alivebur’s life. Some would make him smile, laugh even - he liked laughing, he liked to be happy, to make others happy - but there was always the one or two that made him feel… off. Like Alivebur again, but dead. Like ice reaching up his body, settling on his lungs and heart. Blue was warm, it could defrost him most of the time, but sometimes he’d be stuck feeling the cold. 

Let’s get a misconception out of the way: Ghostbur isn’t an idiot. He knows that he did something, and sometimes he knows what he did, and he can see plainly that people are uncomfortable with him, or would rather have the alive him back. He can see that in Tommy, he feels it, but usually he doesn’t mind it. He knows he’s only a fragment of whoever he used to be, and that’s fine with him.

He also knew that Tommy, when he finally accepts it, will be a fragment of who he used to be. That’s what ghosts are, after all, pieces of the people they used to be. That’s all they’re supposed to be - if they were exactly the same, what was the point in death? What would be the point of their canon lives if there was no consequence to their actions? Exactly.

“You’re almost there, aren’t you, Toms?” He turned to the sleeping ghost, who didn’t even stir. “It’ll be better, I promise.” 

Every night, while Tommy slept, Ghostbur sat awake, finishing every task that could be done, tasks that didn’t need to be done, from blowing out the torches to cutting the grass covering Tommy’s exile, anything to avoid thinking, because thinking made him remember, and the best part of being a ghost, of being a fragment of Wilbur, was that he didn’t have to remember. But silence reigned - it reigned in Logstedshire, it reigned on the coastline, it reigned on the boat. And in silence, he remembered. 

He remembered the things anyone would have killed to forget; he did kill, didn’t he, or he at least tried, didn’t he. But, much like him, it’s pieces of memories, pieces of life, and he’s left to assume. He’s never been good at guessing. Alivebur was good at all sorts of stuff - leadership, fighting, public speaking. 

Persuading. 

Ghostbur stopped pulling the boat for a second, a minute, just long enough to sit on the side of the boat and stare at his little brother’s sleeping form, watch how still he was, his face twisted but his body still. His chest still rose and fell, and Ghostbur smiled at that. Tommy was still clinging onto it. 

He didn’t remember breathing anymore. He saw it all the time, in the dragon’s breath in winter months, in the heavy gasping as people ran, in Friend’s lazy-mouthed huffs. Sometimes it made him laugh, because it seemed so silly to rely on it. But sometimes it made him want to be alive again. Or, at least, to have someone to share in his non-breathing. Glatt was there, sure, but even without the full story there was some form of barrier between them, a wall of glass, that meant that they could never really just be ghost buddies. 

Focusing again on Tommy, as his chest slowly stopped moving, it dawned on him that he’d finally be able to share it with someone. 

Why his little brother? His little brother should have gotten to live a long life, in the nation they’d built up together. But there he lay in the boat, sleeping and dead at the same time, as his breaths slowly stopped. It was like he was dying all over again. And Ghostbur didn’t have enough blue for this. There wasn’t enough blue in the world to stop Ghostbur from crying right now.

He picked up the lead again and pulled the boat, the wave splashing against the boat managing to drown out his sniffling and sobbing. No gasping necessary, no hiccups, reminding him how inhuman he really was. Hopefully, even if Tommy woke up, he wouldn’t even notice. Maybe the final step would have clicked in by then, and things like this wouldn’t worry him anymore. 

As much he would mourn Tommy, Ghostbur was ever so excited to have him back.

The boat washed up onto the sand idly, Ghostbur untied the lead and sat on the beach, his cheeks still streaked but no longer getting wetter. He looked out at the sunrise, absent-minded forlornness on his face, as Tommy continued to sleep. He was peaceful now, the rays of sun brushing his face delicately as he began to stir. 

His irises were radiant, a shining blue that could rival the skies and the seas. Ghostbur hadn’t noticed his clothes changing, but beamed at the red sweater that his brother now sported. Tommy didn’t notice it either until he sat up and tried to rub the sand off the threads, to no avail. 

His movements were sluggish as they walked through l’Manberg, but the smile on his face was the largest it’d ever been, in both Alivebur and Ghostbur’s memories, as he finally returned home; he returned to a home without pain, without the memories of destruction and war, and he returned to it with a piece of the man who forced those memories onto him in the first place. But Ghostbur knew how the freshness of acceptance felt, he’d been latching onto it for as long as he could, long after it had passed him by. 

Hopefully Tommy would be better at holding on than he was. 

He put on the act - for the country, not just his brother - waving at people Tommy had frowned or withdrawn at the mention of, people who Alivebur remembered negatively, and his smile became slightly more real each time Tommy perked up and waved eagerly back, not noticing - certainly not acknowledging - the hesitance and downright confusion some returned. Clearly, not everyone knew Tommy was dead. That was quickly being changed. 

‘I have Tommy,’ Ghostbur wrote to Tubbo’s communicator. ‘We’re in l’Manberg.’

‘We’ll meet up on the stage. Thank you.’

“Tubbo sounds so professional, doesn’t he?” Tommy piped up as he peered at Ghostbur’s communicator. “Just cause he’s President,” he fake-scoffed, still beaming. “I shoulda been President.”

Ghostbur shrugged, pocketing the communicator and heading toward the stage area. Tommy’s eyes instantly lit up when he could see the top of it poking up, even sprinting towards it, beginning to use his ghostly powers to float when he tripped up, his laughter bouncing off the seats onto Ghostbur. He smiled too, at first in a bittersweet sense, but Tommy’s joy was infectious and cloudy; it fogged up his head, stifling the bitter memories and leaving him with a sweet taste. He was laughing, they were laughing, brothers finally united without war or manipulation - they were united in love. 

By the time Tubbo had arrived, Tommy had climbed up onto the stage, looked over the nation that he’d built - that he’d forgotten had betrayed him, the nation that sent him to a hell he no longer remembered - and was giving a fake speech to his brother about something Ghostbur had daydreamed himself out of remembering. 

Their eyes locked. Though Tommy bore the biggest grin as he finally saw his best friend after an empty void between the happy memories, Tubbo’s eyes began to water as he gasped shuddery breaths and stumbled forward. 

“Don’t cry, don’t cry,” Tommy pleaded, fiddling with the teardrop badge on his sweater, still smiling. “You’ll melt-”

“It’s- you’re- we’re- I won’t melt…” Tubbo rambled, rubbing his eyes as he eyed the boy up and down, damp sand sticking to his sweater and skin, his lips edging close to blue, his blue irises trapped behind a white icy glaze, his hair dripping water that never hit the floor, scars on his mouth as he grinned. “It’s… it’s you.. I missed you so much.”

Tommy should have called him a loser, a simp, but he simply laughed and circled Tubbo. “I wasn’t gone for that long, was I? My tour with Ghostbur wasn’t that long!”

Right. He’d forgotten Logstedshire. He’d forgotten the exile, what Tubbo did to him, what Dream did to everyone. It was for the better, Ghostbur’s eyes insisted that; Tubbo knew that already, but that meant this wasn’t the full Tommy, it was just a piece, a fragment, a drop of water compared to the ocean Tommy used to be, was supposed to be. That smile, the laughter, his incessant rambles returning, however, made Tubbo smiled; he accepted it. It wasn’t like had any choice of how much of his best friend he got. 

Besides, isn’t it better to have a piece rather than to not have him at all?

**Author's Note:**

> AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA hope that was good!! here's the dream symbolism stuff btw! piece together what it meant :)
> 
> abduction (being abducted = lack of control in life; witness abduction = feelings of helplessness; abducting = holding onto something you need to let go of/forcing beliefs on people)  
> acid (hatred, rage, revenge, integrity questioned, being eaten away at; acid rain = being misled, express yourself; drink acid = emotionally paralysed)  
> bites (see a bite = danger of someone wishing you harm, be careful of surrounding people; being bitten = bitten more than you can chew, unresolved issues, pestered by problem; being bitten by vampire = someone using you, shut a person out; biting someone = causing people distress, unexpressed anger or resentment)  
> bridle (see a bridle on horse = being manipulated)  
> cane (need support or guidance; being caned = forced into obedience, made example of, self-guilt; caning someone = pent up aggression, resentment towards canee, aspect of yourself)  
> cliff (new understanding and awareness, critical point in life, cannot risk losing control; you/someone falls off cliff = afraid of what lies ahead, cannot meet expectations)
> 
> albatross (bad luck/harsh vulnerable periods)  
> acacia (attitudes with death and sense of mortality)  
> body (dead bodies = detached from the others around you, emotionally distant; decomposing body - time to move on; bloody body = situation or issue you cannot avoid, act on it)  
> body bag (feeling distant or disconnected)  
> baptism (baby being baptised - renewal, new attitude toward life or others; being baptised - sins washed away, seeking forgiveness, immersion in water represents death, emergence resurrection, let go of negative self)  
> bat (white bat = family member dying; black bat = personal disaster; vampire bat = being drained by someone)  
> buzzard (ugly aspect of yourself)  
> candle (to see it blown out = giving up significant part of yourself, sacrificing something you used to love)  
> crows (darker aspects and death; killing a crow = unable to give up a habit; crow kills someone = inescapable end to situation, relationship, habit)
> 
> crossing (dream of crossing body of water = reawakening)
> 
> aloe (heal from emotional wound, forgive/forget betrayal)  
> body paint (covered in body paint = acceptance of yourself; you/someone covered in blue body paint - state of calm/relaxation, or sadness and depression)  
> bookmark (memories, where you’ve been and where you are head, do not forget your place, overstepping boundaries)
> 
> asp (loss of honour and respect, misfortune, hostility between friends)  
> blood (bleeding/losing blood = emotionally drained, bitter confrontations between friends, past actions haunting you; written in blood = energy in a project, investing effort in something you can’t give up; blood on walls = can’t avoid a situation anymore; blood on bathroom walls = situation you have to confront is emotional; others bleeding = cry for help; drinking blood = fresh life, vitality; coughing blood - wasting energy, counterproductive; giving blood = under pressure; blood squirting everywhere = deep emotional stress)  
> bracelet (see/wear a bracelet = reach out to others, rekindle old friendships; broken bracelet = sacrificing comfort and happiness for others; eating bracelet = not getting help, if from specific person, they’re out of reach, cannot connect to them)  
> brother (symbolises relationship with him; if don’t have a brother but have one in dream = symbolises characteristics within yourself/a friend, religious implications, ‘big brother watching you’, issues with authority and oppression)  
> chesire cat (mischief, deceit, mockery, someone you’re unsure you can trust)  
> cloak (torn/ragged cloak = separation between you and friend)
> 
> ash tree (someone offering you protection and stability)  
> cornflower (hope, togetherness, unity)  
> talons (something within your grasp, be more decisive)
> 
> brick (individual thoughts and ideas, experiences may have hardened you; building a wall = trying to isolate yourself, protect yourself)


End file.
